The Gladness of Suffering
by truethingsproved
Summary: "Astoria Greengrass, you are charged with six counts of dark magic of the highest degree, including taking the Dark Mark, four counts of use of Unforgivable Curses, specifically, the Cruciatus Curse, and one count of going into battle against the Ministry of Magic and its allies during the Battle of Hogwarts on the evening of 2 May, 1998... How plead you?"
1. Chapter 1

_A/N Apologies for the changes; I'm rather terrible at formatting, and this is my first time here. Anyway, credit must be given where credit is due: the characterization of Daphne Greengrass is entirely from user Relic of Elegance, a good friend and an incredible writer. We've RPed the sisters, and she was kind enough to allow me to incorporate Daphne into this fic. Daphne is her baby. _

"State your name for the Wizengamot."

"Astoria Hélène Greengrass, sir."

"State your age."

"Sixteen, sir, as of last April."

"Your registered wand is…?"

"Ten and three quarter inches, dogwood, unicorn core."

"Astoria Greengrass, you are charged with six counts of dark magic of the highest degree, including taking the Dark Mark, four counts of use of Unforgivable Curses, specifically, the Cruciatus Curse, and one count of going into battle against the Ministry of Magic and its allies during the Battle of Hogwarts on the evening of 2 May, 1998. If you are found guilty of all counts, you will face six consecutive life sentences. How plead you?"

It all happened so long ago.

Beauty, poise, ambition, and strength. They were the four most important traits of a woman, Veronique would say, stroking her youngest daughter's hair back. When Astoria had frowned and asked about cleverness and loyalty, and why they weren't more important, her mother would laugh and take the girl's face in both hands.

"Beauty is a weapon, more than anyone wants to have to admit," Veronique would explain, her voice deadly serious. "You will be judged on it, valued because of it, and dismissed due to it. That's where your power lies—allow the world to make its judgments. Make the world so enamored with you that you can take whatever you want, whenever you want it. When you learn poise, you learn the art of remaining. You will weather any storm which comes your way without mess, without fuss, and stand tall while everyone around you has fallen. Ambition will not allow you to be content with anything but greatness. And strength will keep you held together through it all." Here, she would lean forward to kiss her daughter's forehead. "You have the makings of a fine woman, Astoria. Promise yourself to no one until they are promised to you, and always keep the upper hand."

It was an incredibly flawed explanation, but Astoria accepted it, as her mother before her, and as her grandmother before them both. It was the D'Argentcour way.

Her father, always wrapped in blankets on the few occasions he ventured out from his study or his bedroom, would laugh and tell Veronique that she was too old-fashioned, but as her father had never bothered to teach her anything worth keeping with her, Astoria placed her trust in her mother before anyone else.

Perhaps it was some deep-rooted difference in the sisters, but Daphne and Astoria never found common ground outside of their own blood. The elder Greengrass seemed to find genuine enjoyment in others' suffering, even her sister's. Later on, when Astoria discovered the works of the Muggle Oscar Wilde, she would say that Daphne was a rather tragic heroine who had yet to recognize that her actions had consequences, and that those consequences would be forever etched into every inch of Daphne's being.

There was only one person for whom Astoria suspended her mother's rule. She was Daphne's, mind, body, and heart, before she was her own.

Until the year she was nine, Astoria spent as much time as she possibly could following after Daphne, trying to learn everything she could, skipping lessons with her mother whenever possible and sometimes just sitting, watching her older sister, trying to understand. Daphne's mind was one that both fascinated and terrified her; how the girl could go from the kindness and devotion she showed her father, to the cruelty she flung at her mother, to the simple disinterest and careless neglect she bestowed upon her sister, made Astoria cringe, but still she sat, watching, learning, knowing that Daphne would be the one, out of all of them, to survive, even if it meant destroying them all.

Daphne Greengrass not only walked the fine line between sin and self-destruction, she mastered it.

The night before Daphne left for her first year at Hogwarts, Astoria climbed onto her sister's bed and held out a small, ornately carved wooden box. Daphne eyed her with contempt but took the gift, shooing Astoria out of the room; Astoria never saw her sister open the box and take the necklace from inside. She didn't know that once it fastened around her sister's neck it was rarely, if ever, removed.

By the time Daphne came back for the holidays Astoria had become her own person. What a change it must have been for the older girl, now that her annoying little sister was spending hours reading and practicing archery in the gardens with Mother rather than following after her. Even Father seemed impressed by Astoria's growth, though when Daphne was around, he only had eyes for his first and favorite daughter. Astoria noted with some shame that Daphne's conversations with her mother were even shorter now, generally involving a simple critique from Veronique that would have brought tears to Astoria's eyes, but only seemed to bring a sort of steely anger to Daphne's.

When she burst into Daphne's room, nearly shaking with excitement, on Christmas day, Daphne ignored her, and she set her gift down on the foot of Daphne's bed before slinking out of the room to sit and wait outside her door. It was almost a full hour until Astoria, filled with a somehow desperate hope, peered into the room, only to see the gift untouched and Daphne as disinterested as ever.

As Astoria's education continued, her self-worth blossomed. By the time her Hogwarts letter arrived she could speak and read in two languages fluently, she could ride almost as well as her mother, and she was the best archer of her age in the county, if not the country. The seemingly endless hours of practicing piano left her tolerable at best, and her sewing was more often than not a disgrace, but even Veronique admitted, when she kissed her youngest daughter goodbye at King's Cross Station, that she'd grown into a fine young woman, and that she'd become even finer as she grew.

Daphne did not allow Astoria to sit with her on the train, and so instead Astoria took a rather loud and excited compartment nearer to the back, sitting quietly with a group of third-years until one of them asked her about her book. By the time they arrived at the school Blaise Zabini and Astoria Greengrass were damn near inseparable, and Blaise clapped the hardest when she was sorted into Slytherin.

Blaise and his friends were all the type of people whom Astoria had assumed would like her sister better, but instead, Blaise seemed to make it his mission to bring Astoria out of her shell. She made friends easily enough, even if she wasn't very fond of most of her classmates, who did little besides talk about Sirius Black's escape.

Some of Blaise's friends were wonderful, while some were decidedly not. She met Theodore Nott once before deciding that, after Blaise, she liked him best. He was quiet, quieter than even her, and she enjoyed the silence his company brought. Then there was Pansy Parkinson, a rather pretty and rather bold young woman who seemed to find Astoria a positive delight. Of the Slytherin girls, she was closest to Millicent Bulstrode, a thickset girl with a mess of sandy brown curls and an easy smile. Millicent liked that Astoria was kinder than her sister; Astoria liked that Millicent didn't feel the need to inject some nonsensical Pureblood prejudice into every damn discussion.

"I rather like Granger," Millicent commented quietly one night while the two were working on their Potions homework together. "She's not as bad as everyone says, you know. She's a bit of a know-it-all and she's a little insufferable sometimes, but she's always been nice to me. She helped me with my potion today; I think I'd have blown my cauldron up without her." Millicent was hopeless at Potions, but more than made up for it in Transfiguration; she and Astoria were constantly helping one another, Millicent patiently explaining how to move her wand or pronounce the spells, and Astoria reading Millicent's textbooks and helping her measure out ingredients and explain why certain reactions were occurring. "Everyone thinks that because she's Muggle-born she's no good, but they're wrong."

It was one of the longest things Millicent had ever said to Astoria, and Astoria just looked up at the older girl and nodded, smiling. "They are," she agreed quietly, and the two returned to their work.

Draco Malfoy was a bit insufferable. He was constantly going on about his father, or his family in general, or Potter, or Pureblood supremacy, or… it got to be simply too insipid for Astoria to have to listen to all the time, and so she ignored him whenever possible. When Pansy started abandoning Astoria to follow after Draco, Astoria's already low opinion of him plummeted.

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were generally brutish. Astoria hated making snap judgments but in this case she found them both useful and accurate; Crabbe barely spoke to her except to grunt, and Goyle was downright crude. Neither of them were interesting enough to make up for it, and so Astoria avoided them as well.

There was another girl, Tracey Davis, who didn't seem to like Astoria much, and another couple of boys, one called Adrian Pucey and another pale, dark-haired boy who seemed to fluctuate between being afraid of his shadow and snarling at everyone, and she didn't know any of them well enough to make a judgment of any kind.

But she and Blaise had an unrivaled friendship, and Astoria couldn't imagine that anything would change that.

When Draco Malfoy decided that antagonizing a hippogriff was a good idea (honestly, what had he expected would happen?), Blaise brought Astoria with him to see the blond boy in the hospital wing. While Blaise and Draco talked, which quickly became Blaise listening while Draco railed loudly against Hagrid, Dumbledore, and the school in general, Astoria wandered around the wing, her eyes wide with fascination, before going up to Madame Pomfrey and asking the nurse if she could do some work there on occasion.

Draco fell silent in surprise as Madame Pomfrey flashed her a warm, matronly smile and asked if she'd like to watch while she cleaned Draco's wound. Blaise watched them proudly, seeming inordinately pleased with Astoria for finding something about which she was passionate.

Sirius Black's second escape shouldn't have excited her as much as it did, but Astoria liked prisons best when they were empty.

In Astoria's second year she saw her first dead body.

She'd spent most of her time in the hospital wing patching up scrapes and cuts, sometimes even helping Madame Pomfrey with boils and burns. The Triwizard Tournament had given her plenty of opportunity to work on smaller wounds, and she'd gotten quite good at them. She rather liked Cedric Diggory. He showed her a kindness that only Blaise and Millicent had shown her before; he always seemed to know when she was tired, or anxious, or simply sad, and all it took was one comment from him to brighten her day.

He would even call out a hello to her in the hall, and she'd flush with excitement that the Hogwarts champion thought her important enough to remember her when they passed each other.

It had become nearly impossible for her to treat Viktor Krum. More often than not she mumbled and dropped everything she was holding, too flustered about being around an international Quidditch star (it was unbelievable! The World Cup had been so amazing, and here she was, dabbing antiseptic on Viktor Krum's cut arm…), until finally, Viktor asked if she'd like him to sign anything and she nearly dissolved in a puddle of admiration for him.

Fleur Delacour reminded her so much of her mother that it got harder and harder for Astoria to keep from slipping into French. When Fleur discovered that she was fluent the two sat and talked for over an hour about their families and their family histories before discovering that they were rather distantly related.

And Harry Potter… how did she describe Harry Potter? He was quiet. She'd not expected that. He seemed to be tired, no matter what the day was, tired down to his bones in a way that she recognized from her father. It seemed a great struggle for him to smile, but his smiles had a way of making her own face light up.

So when Harry Potter came into the castle, followed by Cedric Diggory's lifeless body, Astoria thought back to her mother's instructions on poise and cleared her throat. How strange it must have looked to Cedric's family, the thirteen-year-old girl bent over his body, cleaning him up as best as she could without moving a muscle in her face. Mr. Diggory thanked her with a hollow voice, before asking for some time alone with his son. They had no way of knowing how violently she sobbed when she got back to her dormitory, or that even Blaise couldn't comfort her, or that the feel of death never quiet left her fingertips. Even she didn't know that the feel of death would never leave.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N Hello hello, all. Thank you to returning readers, and hello to anyone new! As always, credit must be given where credit is due: the characterization of Daphne Greengrass is entirely from user Relic of Elegance, a good friend and an incredible writer. We've RPed the sisters, and she was kind enough to allow me to incorporate Daphne into this fic. Daphne is her baby._

_Thank you again for the reviews left on my first chapter; I'm really overjoyed that anyone read it and liked it enough to want to leave me such kind words._

"How plead you?"

The court room was silent, painfully so. Astoria glanced down at her hands, clenched in her lap; blood pooled in her palm from where her fingernails had broken the skin in neat little crescents. Because of her age, the press hadn't been allowed to sit in on the trial. It was proving to be one of the best-kept secrets of the new age. From the seats surrounding the floor, she saw her mother, sitting in the back, and Veronique offered her daughter a small, proud smile.

Daphne was nowhere to be seen. Briefly, Astoria wondered what would have hurt more, not seeing her sister at all, or seeing her sister there to enjoy the show. Father was home, probably wrapped in a cocoon of blankets and curled in front of a fire despite the summer heat.

The willowy young Auror who had arrested her was sitting up front, his honey-colored eyes on hers. The silence stretched, her stomach turning and her fists clenching in her lap again. There was something odd about this one, something about his eyes… Astoria looked back at the Minister, clearing her throat.

"I don't."

She was the very image of innocence. The skull etched into her arm, a serpent slithering from its open jaws, must have been shocking to see. She resisted the urge to stroke the outline of the Mark, the way she had the past year any time she was anxious.

The Minister sputtered in surprise, any words he'd been planning to say dissolved in his shock. "You—you refuse to plead?"

"Yes. I refuse."

"You cannot refuse, Miss Greengrass."

"Respectfully, Minister, I can and I do." Her voice was surprisingly clear. The tremor would only be audible to those who knew her voice well. The Minister wasn't as terrifying as he thought he was; then again, after dining at the Dark Lord's table, very little was as terrifying as it once was.

From the stands, Veronique pressed her lips together to keep her smile contained. Astoria caught the gesture from the corner of her eye and lifted her chin, continuing. "There is no plea I could enter which would be entirely true, Minister. I apologize for my seeming insubordinate, but I cannot, in good conscience, plead 'not guilty' when the charges leveled against me are truth; nor can I accept limitless guilt. There are circumstances which beg recognition."

Ah, they were surprised; good. Astoria sat back, waiting patiently for a response, as the Minister stared at the parchment before him, his face growing steadily redder. "I'm not sure I understand," he said finally, his words slow, and Astoria nodded.

"Sir, throughout history, whenever a regime has fallen to another, stronger regime, the strong-willed have two choices. Either they can become martyrs, or they can become survivors." Almost desperately, Astoria wished that Blaise had been allowed into the court room. She could have done with knowing his eyes were on her. "The martyrs inspire short-lived, bloody rebellions that very rarely end in any prolonged change. The survivors learn the mechanics of the new system so that when the time comes to topple it, every cog in the machine is destroyed."

"You were a survivor, then?"

"In every sense, sir, yes. I _am_ a survivor."

"One could argue that you are an opportunist and a traitor, Miss Greengrass. You used the Cruciatus Curse against your own classmates."

"I used the Cruciatus Curse with a wand at my back," Astoria clarified.

"Were you afraid of dying, Miss Greengrass?"

"No." The Minister looked surprised, and she continued. "No, I wasn't afraid of dying at all. I craved it. I was afraid of _living_. The difference between me and the others you've brought into this court room is that I did it anyway."

The Minister rose from his seat, looking both impressed and infuriated. "Take Miss Greengrass back to Azkaban, please, while the Wizengamot considers her plea or lack thereof. Court shall resume tomorrow morning at the same time." He waved his hands, adding, "You are dismissed," before turning his back on the court room.

It was all a power play.

It wasn't until the Auror took her by the arm, one of his colleagues taking her by the other, that Astoria realized what had been so odd about him: His eyes had stayed on her face the whole time.

Not her arm.

* * *

The thing she missed most about freedom was dreaming.

She rarely slept anymore. Then again, she hadn't slept much before her arrest. Instead, she waited—waited for dawn, waited for someone to walk by, waited for her bones to calm. Sometimes it seemed she would wait forever.

The cell was small, its walls and floor filthy and stained with piss and blood and all manner of sin. She could pace the perimeter a dozen times a minute. When she finally did collapse, too exhausted to keep walking back and forth across the concrete floor, it was on a thin mattress with yellowed and torn sheets. Despite the oppressive summer heat that poured in from the barred rectangle barely as wide as her hand, she shivered as she closed her eyes and drifted in and out of a sleep plagued with screaming.

It wasn't dreams that made her scream; reality did a good enough job of that.

* * *

The Auror from before seemed to have been assigned her keeper. He came to collect her the next morning with a colleague, a petite, thin woman with dainty features and dark eyes. Her dreadlocks fell past her waist, and her teeth, when she smiled, were bright. She seemed pleased that Astoria was awake when they arrived, sitting on her bed and waiting, her eyes fixed on the door.

"My name is Lorelei," the woman said, and Astoria smiled in spite of herself.

"I'm Astoria."

"Can you come with us, please, Astoria? We need to bring you back to the Ministry today."

The Auror watched them curiously as Astoria stood and moved to Lorelei's side. The two didn't speak after that, but Astoria had an ally.

* * *

"It says here that you were a member of the student revolutionary group called Dumbledore's Army." The Minister didn't phrase it as a question, but there was clearly an answer expected; Astoria cleared her throat and nodded. "I need you to speak out loud, Miss Greengrass."

"Yes, I was."

The Minister looked at her, puzzled. "Why?"

"Minister, I'm afraid you'll find that my motivation rarely changes. Survival."

"You joined when you were thirteen. Your primary concern, at thirteen, was survival?"

Astoria paused, considering this. "No." She exhaled slowly, turning her words over in her mind before speaking again. "When I first joined Dumbledore's Army, it was because I thought it was the right thing to do." Her lips curled up in a wry smile. "I had delusions of grandeur and heroism, I'm afraid. I thought that a child's interference would somehow stop the evil I was seeing."

"You thought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named evil, then?"

Raising her eyebrows, Astoria chuckled. "Minister, the evil I'm referencing was of the Ministry." When he frowned in confusion, she clarified: "I didn't join Dumbledore's Army to fight off the Dark Lord. I did it to bring an end to Dolores Umbridge."

* * *

It was the string of hospital visits by students with words carved into their hands that made Astoria decide to join.

She sat in the back of the Hog's Head quietly, listening to Hermione Granger speak. At her side, Harry Potter kept his eyes cast down and his fists clenched. She could see the scars across the back of his hand and felt a pang of sympathy.

It had never occurred to her that Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, the hero of the generation, might be a quiet sort of boy. It had never occurred to her that he'd be just a _boy._ She'd expected someone sure of himself, confident, entirely adult. Her interaction with him the year before had been limited enough for this idea to grow and continue, and as she watched him stand there in silence she wondered how many wars had been raging inside of him, how many scars he bore that they couldn't see.

She signed her name at the bottom in small letters, thrilled by the rush of adrenaline that meant, she supposed, that she was doing something important.

* * *

Meetings were the highlight of the year. She hated Umbridge; she hated Defense Against the Dark Arts (how were they meant to learn if they couldn't practice?); she hated Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle even more than ever, and she was starting to hate Pansy. She spent most of her time with Blaise and Millicent, sometimes joined by Theodore, walking through the halls and doing homework and talking. It was becoming clearer and clearer to her that when they graduated, she'd likely have no friends left, but she didn't mind. She had another two years with them.

More often than not she'd meet Blaise in secret to teach him what she'd learned at the Dumbledore's Army meetings. Whenever she did he spent at least five minutes lecturing her, but it was worth all the lectures in the world to see the proud gleam in his eye when she'd do something impressive.

When she cast her first Patronus, a wispy little trail of silvery smoke that fell rather pathetically from her wand, Harry Potter clapped her on the shoulder and gave her a rare smile that reached his bright green eyes. The next thing Astoria knew her wand was on the floor and she was hugging him around the neck, beaming.

"Thank you," she whispered before letting him go and stooping down to pick up her wand and try again.

* * *

"You cast a Patronus at thirteen?"

Astoria couldn't help but laugh softly at the Minister's shocked expression. "Not a corporeal one, unfortunately. I wasn't able to cast a corporeal Patronus until my fourth year. But I had the beginnings of one, yes."

Sneaking a look at his secretary, the Minister cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Your name appears on the roster that was confiscated by Madam Umbridge, but you weren't present at the meeting she broke up. Why was that?"

Setting her jaw shamefully, Astoria coughed. "I was warned."

* * *

Pale fingers closed around her wrist as she walked down the hall between classes, and Draco Malfoy pulled on her arm just enough to slow her down so he could walk behind her, his lips close to her ear.

"Stay in your room tonight, Greengrass. It's not safe out."

"What are you talking about?" She started to turn to look at him, but he shook his head, releasing her wrist and instead gripping her shoulder. He spoke quickly, almost recklessly; there was none of his usual arrogance or conceit in his voice now.

"It's not going to be safe to be out tonight. Just stay in your room." Almost before he'd finished speaking, he was gone, and it wasn't until another student rammed into her that she started walking again, her cheeks flushed and her head down. What had he meant?

But she stayed in that night, missing her first and only DA meeting, and when word spread that Dumbledore had fled the school, she realized just how far Draco had gone to protect her.

They hadn't exchanged more than a "hello" and "excuse me" in years. Why had he suddenly started caring about her wellbeing now? She surveyed the Great Hall silently, waiting until it started to empty; when Draco stood, so did she, making a sharp, unexpected left just in time to crash into him. They both knelt to gather her things, and she pushed her fingertips up against his briefly. "I stayed in."

"I saw," he said carefully, collecting a quill that had fallen from her bag and holding it out for her. She took it, brushing her fingers against his in silent thanks.

"Why did you warn me?" she asked, shoving the rest of her things into her bag haphazardly.

He shrugged. "Blaise asked me. Did you tell anyone…?"

"No. Only Blaise."

Nodding, Draco stood. He walked away as she finished gathering her books, not looking back as he left the Great Hall.

* * *

"Was that the beginning of your relationship with Draco Malfoy?"

"I don't think you could quite call it a relationship, but yes, that was the real beginning." Astoria chewed the inside of her cheek uncomfortably. She didn't like talking about him. She didn't want him dragged into this any more than he already was.

The Minister nodded. "What would you call it, then?"

Pausing, Astoria ran her tongue along her teeth. "I suppose I'd call it an understanding," she answered finally. "We were not friends. We were never friends. Neither of us like the other enough to pursue any kind of friendship. And we were never involved romantically or sexually. At the same time, with what we've both been through, and what we've been through together, I don't think you can call us 'acquaintances'."

At this, the Wizengamot turned to one another to discuss this in hushed tones for a moment. She took advantage of the respite to glance around; Lorelei was sitting in the front, watching her, and nodded when their eyes met. Veronique was sitting where she'd been the day before. It astonished her, sometimes, how much like her mother she looked—square jaw, sharp cheekbones, dark curls, and the same wicked eyes. She could hear the clicking of her mother's fingernails, long and painted, tapping against the bottom of her chair, and she relaxed just a bit, comforted by the familiar sounds.

After a few more moments, the Minister turned back to Astoria. "Tell us about his return."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N My endless apologies for the wait on this chapter! There was a death in the family and it was one of those things where I'm only just starting to get back on track. My classes have been my first priority, and we're reading Machiavelli in one of them, so I'm both really enjoying myself and developing a much greater appreciation for Astoria._

_As per usual, credit must be given where it is due-__ the characterization of Daphne Greengrass is entirely from user Relic of Elegance, a good friend and an incredible writer. We've RPed the sisters, and she was kind enough to allow me to incorporate Daphne into this fic. Daphne is her baby._

_A brief warning: things are about to get dark. Which I suppose you could have expected, but things are going to get REALLY dark. The relationship between Alecto Carrow and Astoria Greengrass may upset some readers; Astoria is involved in a lot of situations which can only be described as "psychologically abusive". I'll warn for every chapter, but if you stop reading because you're not up for this or interested in a storyline that's quite this dark, I won't be offended._

_Thank you all so much for reading, and special thanks to everyone who's messaged me and left me reviews! You are, all of you, the greatest._

* * *

Everything seemed endless.

She would later be described as squat and ugly, but the fact remains that regardless of how historians paint her, Alecto Carrow had the kind of beauty that could start a war. To say her face was angelic was an understatement; she could look at you through those white eyelashes and curl her beautiful red lips up and you would do anything she asked. The more poetic called her a goddess made flesh. The way Alecto saw it, she had been made the personification of sin.

"It's been a long time, Veronique."

"That it has, cousin." At Veronique's side, Astoria stared up at this strange woman with the envy of a girl who believed herself to be plain. Alecto took a seat, her black skirt smoothed over her swaying hips, her legs stretched out and crossed. Even under her stockings, she looked carved from marble. "You remember my daughter, Astoria?"

Alecto's eyes dipped over the girl's frame and Astoria shifted nervously, suddenly naked and vulnerable under her guest's gaze. "She's grown nicely. She looks like you."

At this, Astoria swelled with pride; her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world, as far as she was concerned, and if this woman saw something of Veronique in her…

Veronique took a seat, gesturing for Astoria to do the same, and leaned forward. "It's true, then? He's returned?"

"He returned a year ago, cousin, but none of you wanted to listen to Potter. You should have. You're going to have to make a choice: are you with Him, or against Him? There's no such thing as neutrality."

What were they talking about? Then Astoria saw it, the thick, dark outline of a serpent-tongued skull beneath the silky white sleeve of Alecto's blouse. Alecto caught her looking and grinned, all teeth and spread lips and pure ice.

"Not with my husband this ill. Neutrality has to exist. I can't. I can't leave him. You know this."

"What of your girl?"

Veronique hesitated, just enough that Astoria knew that they weren't talking about Daphne, even if her mother pretended they were. "She's not mine. She refuses to be mine. She wouldn't take the Mark if her own life depended on it; she thinks it shameful."

"I'm not talking about his girl, Veronique. Don't play games with me. I want my own blood with me when He kills the boy. How old are you now, Astoria?" she asked sweetly. Her voice was low and husky, made of ash, sex in speech, and Astoria felt her skin crawling.

"Fourteen, Miss Carrow."

"Call me Alecto, darling. We're family." Alecto leaned forward as well, setting both feet on the floor. Her voice fell to a whisper, and she raised one eyebrow as if making a joke only she understood. "She's got your fire, Veronique. I can teach her. I can train her." She stood and made her way to where Astoria sat, taking the girl's chin in her long-fingered hands and tipping it up. "Have you ever wondered what kind of greatness you could achieve, my girl?"

Veronique reached across to take Alecto's hand. "She's just a child."

"She's old enough," the blonde insisted, taking a step back and letting her eyes wander across Astoria's face. "Let's see what she wants."

Did they mean her to take the Dark Mark?

"She's still mine, and she's still a child, Alecto. And branding the Malfoy boy like that… it was foolish."

"The Dark Lord seems to think he shows promise," Alecto murmured, taking her seat again and looking agitated. "He wants to prove to that sniveling coward that his son is twice the man he'll ever be. You should look into that, chit," she added, pointing at Astoria with a wicked grin. "Make the Malfoy boy your pet and you'll not make the same mistake Narcissa made. He seems to show the kind of promise that Lucius could never fulfill."

What on earth was going on?

"Let us see how the Malfoy boy does. I'm not having my daughter Marked when she doesn't have protection at school, and Malfoy cannot keep her safe with this task on his shoulders." Veronique stood, signaling the end of the discussion, and gestured for Astoria to stand as well. She did, and Alecto moved to embrace the other witch, her arms tight around her cousin.

"I've missed you, Veronique. Make the right decision. When we succeed, our little D'Argentcour heir will live up to her name." Astoria tried not to flinch when Alecto reached for her and tipped her chin up again, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I look forward to the day you're mine," she murmured, brushing her fingers through Astoria's curls before turning and walking from the room. She didn't look back.

* * *

"Alecto Carrow is your cousin?"

"My maternal grandmother was her mother's sister. She was not of D'Argentcour blood, but of Devereux," Astoria explained, ignoring the pang of loneliness in her chest when she thought of Alecto's long fingers in her hair. She'd wondered time and time again why anyone would try to diminish the Carrows' beauty, before realizing the simple truth: accepting that such an angel's face could have guarded a demon's heart would have been too much to bear.

_If you can't trust the angels, what have you left?_

* * *

The woman had an American accent, probably from somewhere further down south, if the drawl was any indication. Her name was Irene, her hair was cut short, and she was killing time before meeting someone called Nebraska.

Of course, that wasn't his real name, but that was where he was from, and Astoria hadn't bothered to ask for any name other than Nebraska. The two, it seemed, had met while Irene was backpacking across Europe before heading home to the States for schooling.

It seemed a silly tradition, to wander about aimlessly in an unfamiliar continent, but Astoria supposed it wasn't any different than the way D'Argentcour boys toured Europe before finding a career or getting married.

Irene seemed surprised to find a fourteen-year-old girl sitting alone outside a coffee shop in London. She had no idea that Veronique was a shop over, speaking in hushed, angry tones ("If I wanted speculation I'd be asking my daughter's friends from school. As it is, they probably have more reliable information. Tell me what He's planning; we're all being sucked in now.")

"You okay, sugar?" she asked, and Astoria looked up and nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. Irene sat across from her, tapping short nails along her collarbones and setting her coffee cup down on the table. "What're you drinking?"

"A macchiato," Astoria answered carefully. She had no idea what it was but so far she liked it. The Muggle money her mother had left her felt almost like it was burning in the pocket of her cardigan. She reached back to tug at her braid, and Irene laughed.

"You like it?"

"Mhm."

Irene's eyes searched her face, and Astoria tried to ignore the discomfort of being so exposed. "You okay, baby?" she asked, and Astoria nodded. "You got a story?"

"Everyone's got a story," Astoria mumbled, and Irene laughed, delighted.

"Out of the mouths of babes!" She clapped once, her stack of bracelets clanging together, and leaned forward. "I'm Irene. Who're you?"

Giving out her real name felt like too much of a threat, and so Astoria shrugged. "Emily," she heard herself say, and Irene grinned.

"Mind if I sit with you, Emily?"

"Not at all."

Irene didn't ask her about herself anymore. Instead, she talked about Nebraska. She talked about how they were getting married in a few months and that right after the wedding, she'd be due with their baby. She didn't know if it would be a boy or a girl, but she'd picked out a few names just in case. On a whim, Astoria laughed and suggested her own name—her real name—and Irene paused.

"Astoria. I like that. That's real pretty. Where'd you hear it?"

"It's a family name," Astoria answered, only half lying.

"Well, I like it, sugar." Irene beamed, and she launched into another story about her adventures backpacking. They must have been sitting there for an hour or more when Veronique returned.

Irene stood when Veronique stood behind Astoria and extended her hand, grinning widely. "I'm Irene. Are you Emily's mom?" With a quick glance at Astoria, Veronique nodded, and Irene's grin somehow managed to grow. "She's a great kid, ma'am. I should get going. See you around, sugar." She waved cheerfully before taking her now-empty cardboard coffee cup and her bag and walking down the street.

Veronique looked at Astoria with quiet amusement as she gathered the notebook and pen she'd brought with her. "Who was that?"

"Just some American," Astoria murmured, changing the subject quickly. She didn't know how to react to Irene, and doubted her mother would know better. "What did you find out?"

The corners of Veronique's mouth turned downward and she set her jaw. "Nothing we didn't already know." She looked at her daughter curiously. "What are you thinking, little bird?"

"I'm going to have to take the Mark, aren't I?" she asked quietly, and Veronique didn't answer.

What a shame, she would think years later, that even at fourteen she had known that she would be putting something more important than her life on the line.

She started walking into the nearby village to read the morning newspapers from London. When she found Irene's wedding announcement—and how strange it had been, to see Nebraska's name written out, but she'd never think of him as anything other than Nebraska—she felt her eyes burning and she was oddly grateful that her brief friend had found what she'd wanted.

When she found Irene's name among the dead listed in the Daily Prophet, months and months later, she dropped the paper and sobbed for reasons she couldn't quite articulate. There was an emptiness she didn't know how to name carving its way through her chest and her bones felt hollow.

Later, she'd be able to identify it as 'grief', but the thought that she could grieve for some woman she'd barely known terrified her. If this kind of emptiness could be found through an hour's friendship, what would happen when she lost someone who really mattered to her?

* * *

Veronique tried to make Astoria forget about Alecto's visit, but there was something about the way she'd spoken that Astoria couldn't shake from her mind. When she'd been sorted into Slytherin, she'd been almost disappointed that she'd done as every single other member of her family who had attended the school; still, the idea that she had the cunning and ambition to become the kind of person she wanted to be made her ache with desire. The morning before she and Veronique went to Diagon Alley to pick up her supplies for the year she scribbled out a quick note that she'd send via post office when her mother wasn't looking. It made her ill to imagine lying to her mother but there were things that she had to know that Veronique wouldn't tell her.

_What did you mean when you said that I had my mother's fire? What can you teach me?_

_-Astoria Greengrass_

* * *

Alecto's response came barely an hour before they left for King's Cross. In the confusion of the morning she was able to grab the letter and slip it into her coat pocket when her mother wasn't paying attention; Daphne caught a glimpse of the flurry of parchment and raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow without saying a word. Not for the first time, Astoria wished that she and her sister were closer so that she would have someone in whom she could confide.

She kept her hand in her pocket, her fingers brushing against that letter, until she got onto the train and took a seat in one of the empty compartments closest to the back, her free hand closed around Millicent's and her eyes focused on everything and nothing at once. In a breathless hush she begged Millicent to keep watch, promising to explain everything as soon as she could, and pulled the letter out from her pocket as Millicent closed the compartment door.

_My dear girl,_

_ Your mother and I grew up together, closer than sisters. My summers at D'Argentcour Manor were the best of my youth. If anyone knows your mother's fire, it is I, without a single doubt._

_ The question isn't what I can teach you, but rather, what you're willing to learn. You have the potential to achieve the kind of greatness unheard of in our day; you can become the leader we'll need to help usher in a new age under a stronger and greater power than what any of us could ever dream._

_ Veronique is right, though: let your studies take precedence this year, and next summer you and I can begin our real training. In the meantime, we can continue our correspondence. I've already grown quite fond of you and look forward to seeing you grow from girl to woman._

_I remain ever-faithful, your blood and your bones,_

_Alecto_


End file.
